


Humanitarians

by misscai



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drama, F/M, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Mentions of sexual violence, Non-Graphic Violence, Revenge, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, girls protecting girls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-10
Updated: 2019-11-10
Packaged: 2021-01-26 14:54:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21375916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misscai/pseuds/misscai
Summary: “M, I’ve known you since freshman year. I know when you’re lying. What really happened?” For a moment, it looked like Margot was going to confess. But then she just smiled at him.“Nothing. Really.”.'Night-time Yoga' classes shouldn't leave the kind of bruises that Margot is sporting. Henry is determined to find out what she's really been up to.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 2





	Humanitarians

**Author's Note:**

> TW for mentions of rape/non-con and violence

Henry set aside his laptop when he heard the door to his apartment open and then shut again—quickly, like it never opened the entire way and instead had only cracked just enough to let a short, slender body slip through. Like someone was trying to sneak inside, hoping he would either be fast asleep or gone. No such luck. He got out of bed and leaned over the loft balcony, raising one eyebrow as he observed the late-night visitor tiptoeing into the kitchen.

“Don’t even think about touching my Cheerios,” he said, a smirk growing on his face as his guest visibly jumped out of her skin. It was always fun to scare Margot, especially when she thought she was outsmarting him. One of her legs had drawn up, leaving her standing like a flamingo. Henry laughed.

“Fuck your Cheerios,” she replied, relaxing her posture and leaning against the countertop, watching Henry descend the stairs to meet her. “I hate those things. Everyone with a brain knows that Frosted Flakes are better.”

“Well, when your heart stops while mine is still going strong, I just want you to know that it’s because of my choice of cereal.” He came to a stop in front of her, leaning in as if for a kiss. Margot tilted her head up, closing her eyes. They flew open when Henry shook the cereal box behind her, his lips at her ear. “They’re heart-healthy.”

“You’re such an ass,” she said, shoving him away. Henry caught her wrist, reeling her in until he trapped her in a bear-hug against his chest.

“You’re home late. Did you have trouble shutting down the gym?” He snorted. “Is it that guy who always brings a gallon-sized protein shake? He really needs to have the closing hours tattooed on his arm or something.”

“Nah, he’s started to come first thing in the morning. Something about getting out of the house before he has to change the baby.”

“So were you burning the midnight oil, then?” Henry released her, only to encircle her upper arms with his thumb and middle fingers. “Trying to beat my bicep size?”

“Puh-lease,” Margot laughed, “I could out-lift you any day, honey.”

“Oh, the knife of thine words cuts deep.” He placed a dramatic hand over his chest, pretending to gasp for breath. Margot shoved him again.

“Mom always said I shouldn’t trust those actor boys. I should’ve listened.” As usual when Margot brought up ‘the acting thing,’ Henry’s eyes practically rolled back in his head.

“I only took _one_ theater class, M. And it was a humanities requirement—you know that.”

“Funny that you still follow Shakespearian language patterns three years after that single, fateful, only-fulfilling-a-graduation-requirement class,” she teased, and he yanked the strap of her gym bag in retaliation.

“Maybe I just relate to all the men with their cruel mistresses.” Margot laughed even as she grabbed a banana from the fruit bowl on the kitchen table, peeling it as she headed upstairs. Henry followed, detouring to the bathroom to start the shower for her. “Cruel mistresses who leave them alone all evening and into the night, shivering under the covers and miserable for lack of company.” He sighed dramatically, flopping onto the bed with his face buried in the mattress. “Woe is me.”

“Poor, poor thing,” Margot cooed, stepping lightly around the room as she unpacked her bag and began to repack it for the morning. “It must be hard to have a ‘cruel mistress’ who started a new nighttime yoga class at her gym so that she could make some extra money so that she could surprise her boyfriend with a trip to the Grand Canyon for his birthday because she knows that he’s always wanted to go rafting down the Colorado.” She was suddenly on top of Henry, naked breasts pressing into his bare back. Her mouth was at his earlobe. “And now the ‘cruel mistress’ has ruined the surprise. Isn’t she horrid?”

“The worst.” He wiggled under her, rolling until they were face-to-face. He was grinning. “I don’t know how she can ever repay me for her cruelty.”

“Maybe she can start with a shower, hm?” Margot stood, unleashing her dyed-silver curls from the bun atop her head and shaking them out, winking at Henry as she sauntered into the bathroom. Henry had never shed his boxers faster.

.

The next morning, as always, Henry poured Margot’s cereal first, and scowled the whole time he was doing it. She liked her Frosted Flakes soggy, with an extra spoonful of sugar added to the milk. Henry shook his head, even as he fixed breakfast the way she preferred it; for such a fitness geek, Margot had a sweet tooth.

He watched her going through her morning stretches in the living area, up on her tiptoes as she reached for the ceiling that she was much too short to be able to touch, then moving fluidly to place her palms flat on the floor that was more within her reach. Her outfit—leggings with aliens printed on them, paired with a sports bra and a gray sweater—made Henry shake his head again, pouring two cups of coffee. Twenty-four years old, a successful business owner, and she still dressed like a college sophomore going to her 8 a.m. class. It was adorable.

“What’s on tap for you today, Mr. Parham?” She slipped into the chair opposite him at the table, brushing her fingers against the back of his hand as he slid her coffee mug towards her. “Solving students’ crises, one psychoanalysis at a time?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything about the students I see,” he said around a mouthful of Cheerios. “Confidentiality agreements and all that. But I will say that it’s almost time for rush week, and I’ve seen a lot of nervous faces.”

“I wish our student counselor had been as handsome as you are. The kids now are lucky.”

“Hey, Mr. Navarro was very handsome!”

“I always knew you had a crush on him. None of the other psych majors spent that much time in his office.” Margot smirked. Henry rolled his eyes.

“I was trying to get in his good graces, M. And it worked, didn’t it? He didn’t personally recommend any of his other office assistants to the hiring board when he left.”

“And I’m very proud of you for serving our alma mater. But you still totally had a crush on him.”

“He was fifty years old. He had, like, six kids!”

“You always have been a family man.” Henry groaned, and Margot just gave him a smug smile, reaching out for the coffee creamer. Her sweater slipped off her shoulder. Henry’s eyes were drawn to the bruises on her collarbone.

“Christ, Margot!” His brow furrowed with concern. “What happened to you?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said, readjusting her sweater with a shrug.

“That’s not nothing. They look like fingerprints. Did someone attack you?”

“No, no.” She thought for a moment, carefully stirring her cereal. “Well, actually, yeah. But it was all friendly. Calum just wanted to wrestle a little. He said he was out of practice.” Henry frowned deeper. Calum was a friend of theirs from college—a football player, six feet tall and built like a tank—and now he taught MMA classes at Margot’s gym. He could probably snap Margot in half.

“Why didn’t Ben help him? Why you?” Ben was another friend, the pitcher from the men’s baseball team and a member of the honor society. He was a personal trainer at the gym.

“Ben was… busy.” She waved her spoon through the air carelessly. “He likes this girl that comes to use the sauna every Wednesday. He’s been flirting with her.”

“M, I’ve known you since freshman year. I know when you’re lying. What really happened?” For a moment, it looked like Margot was going to confess. But then she just smiled at him.

“Nothing. Really.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “I’ve got to run. Gallon-sized protein shake guy will be eager to get started on his workout.” In a flurry of movement, she’d slung her bag over her bruised shoulder and kissed Henry’s cheek, bounding out the door. Her unfinished Frosted Flakes still sat on the table.

.

A month passed, and Henry found his thoughts drifting between his counseling appointments. He should be preparing his office, rereading his notes on the next visiting student, but instead he was thinking of Margot. By now he was positive that Margot was lying to him. More bruises popped up—on her wrists, her ribcage, her hips—and her excuses for them grew even more unlikely. She didn’t give outlandish explanations, like car accidents or random street violence, but it was precisely the normalcy of the explanations that made them unbelievable. She would say that the bruises were from tripping on the treadmill, or bumping into countertops, or dropping dumbbells.

But Henry knew that Margot was not a clumsy person. It was one of the things he’d admired about her when they first started dating. He would bring his textbooks to the corner bakery right off campus where she worked, and he’d spend half his time studying and the other half watching the masterful way she could move. She never had trouble navigating around the tightly-packed tables that were always filled with students, their bookbags dropped on the floor and their chairs nearly back-to-back. Margot could carry a stack of dirty dishes in one arm and a row of plated cookies on the other, delivering each order to its table and carrying on conversations with her classmates without a misstep. There was no way she was getting her bruises from clumsiness.

It had to be something else, but what? She’d never tolerate someone getting violent or handsy with her at the gym—she was small, but Henry had seen her demonstrate a roundhouse kick on a practice dummy, and if anyone was stupid enough to try anything on her, he knew she could take care of herself. Plus, she had Ben and Calum—her and Henry’s loyal friends, bonded together by a chemistry class that they had all nearly failed—and they would have Margot’s back if anything got out of control. It couldn’t be any actual assault. There was no way.

So if it wasn’t occurring without Margot’s consent, that meant that whatever it was had happened with Margot’s consent, and that thought made Henry drop his pen. It clattered to the desk noisily, leaving a splatter of blue ink on a student profile folder. Henry didn’t care, not when Margot’s bruises were often round like the pads of fingertips and when he knew that he hadn’t been the one to leave them. Christ, was Margot cheating on him?

No. No, it was impossible. Ben and Calum were close friends with Margot, but they were friends with Henry, too. Surely they would tell him if she’d been leaving the gym during the day, or if she’d been flirting with one of their patrons. Wouldn’t they?

A knock on the door put a blessed stop to Henry’s train of thought. He stood and crossed over to open the door, expecting Chase Thompson, a junior who was desperate to change his major but had received a very negative reaction from his parents at the decision. Instead, Henry came face-to-face with Yvonne Richards, a freshman who had started visiting Henry after she’d been drugged at a party. Thankfully, nothing had happened to her—her friends had taken her home when she’d said she wasn’t feeling well—but the thought of what could have happened had made Yvonne incredibly anxious. Henry was working with her, but he wasn’t supposed to see her until Friday afternoon. It was only Tuesday.

“Yvonne. Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah. I just wanted to say thank you for all you’ve done for me.” She held out a little box; Henry peered through the cellophane window to see a cupcake with a black icing smiley face piped onto it. “I really appreciate it.”

“Of course.” Henry took the box, hefting it playfully in one hand. “I hope it’s chocolate.”

“Mmhmm. With marshmallow in the middle.”

“I’ll have to eat it here, so my girlfriend can’t get her hands on it. She’s a sucker for anything sweet.” Yvonne frowned at him, putting one hand on her hip.

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend, Mr. Parham. Here I thought we were friends.” She fake-pouted for a fraction of a second, then she was smiling again. “What’s she like?”

“She’s great. We actually met at school here, in our freshman English class. She was an exercise science major; she owns the gym down the street.” Yvonne’s eyes lit up with recognition.

“Margot Aldridge is your girlfriend? I _love_ her. I take her pilates class every Saturday. She’s _amazing_.” The girl’s face softened a little, and she glanced at her feet before looking back at Henry. “Will you tell her that all the girls really appreciate what she’s doing for us?”

“What?”

“You know. The ‘night yoga.’” Yvonne made air quotes with her fingers. “She’s a real inspiration. We all think so.” She glanced over her shoulder at Chase’s arrival, backing away as Chase approached. “Anyways. Enjoy the cupcake, Mr. Parham. I’ll see you Friday.”

.

Henry had been puzzling over Yvonne’s words all day. He had hoped to catch Margot at their apartment during her afternoon break, before she went back to the gym for her evening classes, but her bike wasn’t on the rack when he got home. Strange, though, that their door was unlocked when he arrived. He could hear the television playing the country music channel, which mean that Calum was over. Sure enough, when Henry came through the door, Calum was leaning over the countertop with a beer can in his hand.

“Hey, man, good to see you!” Calum beamed, his smile wide and white. If he could hold a tune at all, Henry thought he would fit right in with the country music stars that he liked so much. “Want a drink? I didn’t touch your stash, I swear; I brought these with me.”

“Sure, I’ll have one.” Henry set his bag down on the coffee table in the living room, toeing off his shoes and joining Calum in the kitchen. “Is Margot here?”

“Nah, she’s still at the gym. She had a girl come in who really needed to talk to her. But she’s bringing tacos for dinner.” Henry hummed, cracking the top of his beer before squinting at Calum.

“Wait, then how’d you get in?”

“Margie’s key.” He nodded towards the Tinkerbell keychain on the countertop.

“Ah.” They were quiet for a moment, listening to the twanging sound of a banjo on the television. “Cal, what do you know about M’s night yoga classes?” Calum coughed a little, the tips of his ears turning red. 

“Yeah, she, uh, started those just a month or so ago. They’ve been really popular.”

“Have you stayed for one?”

“Me? Nah, I’m not a big fan of all that ‘inhale, exhale’ stuff.”

“Has Ben?”

“Don’t think so, man. He’s been seeing that girl who uses the sauna all the time. I think they’re officially dating now.” Calum snorted, trying to be casual as he redirected the conversation. “She’s a lot nicer than that one girl he saw in junior year. What was her name? The one from the ballroom dancing club, who always had her thong showing?”

“Gabrielle.”

“That’s the one! Man, I couldn’t stand that girl. I was glad he dumped her—I don’t think I could’ve kept living with him if she was around the apartment all the time. You know she—”

“Cal, is Margot cheating on me?”

“What the hell? No!” Calum eyed Henry with jaw-dropped disbelief. “Dude, she’s been in love with you forever. She’d never do that.”

“Her night yoga class is fake, isn’t it?” Henry set down his beer without having swallowed a single drop. “A girl I counsel talked to me about it today. She made it seem like it wasn’t a real thing.” The rustle of plastic bags outside made Calum glance towards the door. “Cal.”

“Look, Henry, I think you’ve got to talk to Margie about this one.” He made his way to the door, opening it to let Margot inside. Before she could greet him, Calum bent down and kissed her forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Wha—hey, take your tacos,” she said, handing over one of the bags. Calum took it, saluted them, and shut the door on his way out. Margot fake-frowned at Henry, setting their dinner on the kitchen table. “How come you’re scaring away our guests, huh?”

“Tell me about the night yoga class. I know it’s fake. Yvonne Richards came to see me today and she told me.” He folded his arms over his chest. It was a little stretch of the truth, but Henry didn’t think it was dangerous. Margot sighed.

“Let’s just have dinner first. Then I’ll explain.”

.

They ate in relative silence, the crooning of country music songs providing the only background noise other than the crunching of their taco shells. When they’d finished, Margot threw out the trash and motioned for Henry to join her on the couch. She turned off the television.

“It’s not a night yoga class, you’re right. It’s a self-defense class for college-aged girls who have been sexually assaulted on campus.” Henry blinked at her, then frowned.

“Why didn’t you just tell me that? It’s a really cool idea.”

“Because…” She fidgeted in her seat, plucking at a loose thread on the bottom of her tank top. “It’s not just self-_defense._ It’s also a little bit of _offense_.”

“So, what, you teach the girls how to whale on people?” Henry snorted, but Margot’s face was serious.

“Never people who don’t deserve it,” she said. “If they decide to go after the guys who hurt them, that’s their choice, and I support them.” Henry just stared at her.

“You’re being serious right now.” She nodded. “You’re telling these girls to go and beat up the guys who raped them? M, don’t you see what a bad idea that is?” He ran a hand through his hair, standing up and pacing in front of the TV. “I mean, they could get hurt! They could seriously injure someone! Christ, if they were angry enough, if their emotions got out of control, they could kill someone!”

“I don’t let them get out of control,” Margot said coolly. “I make sure they keep it together.”

“You _what?_” He stopped dead in his tracks, his head whipping around to face her.

“If they ask me to go with them to confront their assaulters, I go with them. I make sure they’re safe.”

“That makes you an accomplice!” He was shouting now. The shock of finding out that Margot—carefree, balanced, and playful Margot—had been coaching a secret fighting class, and had been encouraging and supervising the beatings that her students dished out… that was unreal. Unbelievable. Henry pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling heavily. “M, you know the importance of being calm when you fight. Fighting while you’re emotional is dangerous to everyone involved. These girls don’t need to be combating their anger and fear with violence. They need counseling, they need to confront their trauma and learn to move past it.”

“Henry, honey.” Margot shook her head, a look of sadness on her face. “Therapy doesn’t always work. And not all of them go on the offensive. Most of them just like to know that if anything ever happened again, they can defend themselves. But some of them need that outlet. They want to take that control back from the guy who stole it from them.”

“They want revenge,” Henry said. Margot’s expression darkened.

“They want justice. And they deserve to get it however they can. God knows the college isn’t getting it for them.”

“So it’s up to you to deliver it to them? You’re not a vigilante, M, you’re not their hero.” It wasn’t what he should have said, too pointed and acidic. Her eyes flashed with pain, then with anger.

“I don’t want to be,” she snapped. “I’m not trying to be. They’re all the hero they need.” She shoved off of the couch, kicking his shoes out of the way as she strode to the door. “I’m going to teach my vigilante class. I’ll be back later. Maybe.”

And with that, she stormed out of the apartment. The door slammed shut behind her.

.

Henry stayed up on his laptop in bed until he heard the door creak open again. Margot wasn’t quiet about her entry this time; she must’ve known that he’d be awake, their conversation unfinished. Henry wasn’t mad anymore, and he hoped Margot was calmer, too. After he’d had a shower and watched a movie, Henry realized that he didn’t really have a reason to be angry with her—disappointed, maybe, and surprised, but not angry. She was doing a good thing in her own way, helping those girls—sweet, fearful girls like Yvonne—to find their inner strength. And he couldn’t say he blamed her, or them, for feeling frustrated at the lack of retribution on the college’s part.

He watched the ceiling fan spin, listening as Margot peeled a banana and climbed up the stairs to the loft. He wanted to apologize. He was going to apologize. But he also wanted to know what had started Margot on this path. His psychologist side was flashing warnings, bright neon signs that said ‘PTSD’ and ‘coping mechanism,’ but he needed to hear it from Margot herself.

When she slid into bed beside him, she kept a careful distance of a few inches between them, like a physical representation of their fight. He missed the touch of her skin like a lost limb, but he didn’t reach out to her. They were both flat on their backs, staring upwards.

“Did the same thing happen to you, M? Is that why you started this?”

“You’ve been psychoanalyzing me.” It could’ve been accusatory, but instead the words were soft and fond. Margot was probably smiling. “No, it didn’t happen to me.” She sighed, shifting her feet beneath the comforter. “It was a girl on my hall, senior year. We weren’t really friends, but sometimes we went on nighttime runs together. Safety in numbers and all that. Remember the night that you took me out to that fondue restaurant, for our second anniversary?”

“Yeah.”

“It happened that night. She went on a run by herself, and a guy was leaving a frat party, tipsy but not drunk—as in, he was sober enough to know what he was doing. He grabbed her and raped her in the bushes behind the house.” Margot sighed again, and Henry reached out to hold her hand.

“That isn’t your fault, Margot. You had no control over the situation.”

“I know that. But I saw what it did to her. She was depressed, she was scared. She never left the building alone. And when the college responded to her sexual assault report, they didn’t expel him. They gave him a month’s worth of counseling—which is, what, four visits?—and sent him on his merry way.” Her fingers tightened around Henry’s. He squeezed back. “She dropped out, two months before she would’ve graduated. It was awful to see. And after I saw that, I just kept thinking, what if she had known how to fight back? If she could have defended herself and kept him away from her? I don’t want to see girls like Yvonne terrified to leave their dorm rooms, you know? So I thought I could help them.”

“I understand.” And he did. He turned his head to look at her, giving her a half-smile. “It makes sense.” Margot looked at him with surprise.

“You aren’t mad?”

“I wish you’d told me earlier. And yeah, I don’t agree with handling trauma with violence, but I understand. I think I was upset earlier because you were right: therapy doesn’t always work. But that’s my job, you know? It sucks to hear that I might spend weeks working with someone and that it might not even help them.”

“It does help,” she told him. “Everything helps. Sometimes it just takes a combination. A balance. Therapy and self-defense classes. Meditation and kickboxing. You and me.”

“That was very romantic and I’m practically swooning, but how do we fit in there?” Henry grinned at her, and Margot rolled to her side, propping herself up on her elbow.

“Sometimes your girls come to me, saying that you suggested finding a physical outlet for their anxiety. Something to distract them, get them out of their heads and into their bodies.” That was true, almost word for word. Henry chuckled. “Sometimes I send girls to you, and I tell them that a healthy, fit mind is just as important as a healthy, fit body. It’s a balance between you and me. We help them together, even if you didn’t exactly know it. We’re a team.”

Henry tucked her into his chest, blowing a strand of her hair out of his mouth. “We should come up with a team name.”

“Not a chance. We aren’t superheroes.”

“What do you call us, then?” She was quiet for a moment, thinking. He felt her smile against his bare chest.

“Humanitarians.”


End file.
